


The Logical Flaw

by DHW



Series: Fifteen Minute Fics [1]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 05:41:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7254730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DHW/pseuds/DHW
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten years. Ten years and he still can’t sleep without the booze.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Logical Flaw

**Author's Note:**

> For workaholic1231.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I don't own these characters. I'm just playing with Jerry B's toys. I don't make any money.

  
  
  
He grips the wheel as another wave of pain begins to bloom in his chest, threatening to blacken his vision, to send him spinning off the highway and into the desert beyond. His doctor tells him that the pain is merely psychological, but he thinks it isn’t logical enough for an explanation. Grissom adores logic.   
  
It is the first time he’s left work in time in months. The road is a lonely place to be, but so is everywhere else, these days.   
  
A man in large, blue SUV cuts him off and he glares, willing the car to burst into flames for such a gesture of arrogance. No one used to be this pig ignorant, he is sure, but far too many years have passed for him to be entirely accurate in his assumption.   
  
He runs a hand through his hair, now more white than grey, ruffling up the curls that hang a little too low across his forehead. He supposes he should get a haircut, but he just doesn’t seem to have the time. He is a busy man. Such social activities had been cut long ago.   
  
The sight of his house is both a relief and an annoyance, but he pulls up anyway, slamming car door shut with little concern for the neighbours. A dozen empty beer bottles greet him.   
  
_…know that I tried very hard to stay…_  
  
The glass makes a satisfying sound as it shatters against the wall, spraying tinkling shards of colour across his coat. There is a warm wetness upon his cheeks and he is unsure whether that is due to the blood or the tears. Not that it matters. It’s merely water with a few other things added. Chemicals and cells and emotions. And he could do without the last.   
  
He closes his eyes, fumbling for the lock, his keys jangling noisily in his fingers.   
  
Empty. The house seems to echo, amplifying the sounds of the rats and mice with which he shares his abode. The dog is long dead, buried out back under the oak. The one that Sara planted.   
  
_…you know I love you. I feel I’ve loved you forever…_  
  
His chest constricts and the pain creeps back. He clutches at his clothing, his shirt feeling almost too tight across his skin. Staggering to the kitchen, he throws open the refrigerator, searching for bottle of chilled oblivion.   
  
Ten years. Ten years and he still can’t sleep without the booze. But, then again, he’ll do anything to block out that voice. The one that sits in the back of his head, repeating the same jumble of words day in day out.   
  
_A kiss and a letter. Then she was gone. My Sara. My lost Sara._   
  
  



End file.
